thanks to everyone for reading and for all the really great reviews. I have to say for as much as i Loved writing Your MInd Tricked You to Feel the Pain, i really love this story more. Hope everyone is enjoying it so far!! bambers;)

Chapter Three

Dean wasn't about to try and fool himself whereas Sam's condition was concerned. Although he was fairly certain he could handle Bo, Reeves was another matter entirely. He was in way over his head, but wasn't about to entrust his brother with the doctors of Parkside Medical. The problem was that while Dean was trying to regain his breath, the guards had whisked Sam away to a locked ward somewhere in the hospital, and no one seemed to be in a hurry to give him any information about his brother.

He'd spoken to several nurses and doctors who all gave him the runaround, and then pushed off the responsibility of Sam's care onto another doctor. And now he was standing in the office of some bug-eyed psychiatrist who looked like he should be a patient of a psyche ward instead of the head of the psychiatry department. The bespectacled man had a nervous tick in the corner of his right eye that was really starting to get on Dean's last nerve. If that wasn't enough, the blasted weasel of a man constantly cleared his throat as he shuffled through Sam's file, and Dean had to grit his teeth not make some sort of biting remark that would only make matters worse.

Dean glanced at the doctor's nameplate on the desk, and then looked to older man. "Doctor Warner, I wanna see my brother now." He pressed the palms of his hands against the man's desk, and leaned threateningly toward the doctor. "Been gettin' the goddamn runaround from everyone here, an' I'm done with it."

"Please take a seat, Mr. Whitaker." The doctor gestured toward the chair in front of his desk, and waited for Dean to sit down. When Dean didn't budge from his spot, the man cleared his throat again, and continued, "I'm afraid your brother has suffered a complete psychotic break from reality. He has become a danger not only himself, but the community as well, and it is my recommendation that he be committed to the psychiatric ward until further notice."

Dean's fingers curled tightly around the edges of the desk as he fought the urge to jump over it and strangle the man within an inch of his life. "There's no way in freakin' hell that I'm havin' my brother committed."

"Afraid you don't have a choice in the matter. As the hospital believes your brother to be a threat to society, we have the right to hold him for seventy-two hours for a full evaluation." The doctor cleared his throat again as he shuffled through his files once more. "After that time we will make further determinations regarding his care."

"Wanna see my brother now." Dean slammed his hand down hard on the desk, sending papers scattering across the surface, and the older man flinched.

Doctor Warner pushed his glasses up to rest on the bridge of his nose as he warily eyed Dean. Once again he cleared his throat and gestured toward the chair he'd asked Dean to sit down on before. "I think you fail to grasp the gravity of the situation, Mr. Whitaker. Since your brother was admitted to Parkside, he's assaulted two security guards, almost strangled you, and that's not even mentioning the fact that he has displayed marked characteristics of a person suffering from schizophrenia. So far while here, Sam has exhibited two separate and distinct personalities, and I am almost positive there are others as well."

"Two?" Dean swallowed hard as he dropped down onto the seat. In the back of his mind a low murmuring began to stir, and grew louder with each passing second. Over and over again the same words echoed inside his head, and yet he had no idea what they meant.

There is a cold dark place in my mind. It is where the soul seeks comfort, but finds none. From shallow graves and sleepless nights I have somehow lost my way. I may not want to understand it, but as time goes on this journal will be my only way to recall what has happened and what has been lost along the way.

No. No. No. No. No. . . not now . . . please not now. Sammy needs me.

A sudden surge of electrified pain ripped through Dean's heart. Vision blurring, he arched forward in his chair as another volt of electricity coursed through his entire body. The room faded to ashen gray as long corridor came into focus. Like an old time movie, the scene played out in his mind in black and white. Sam stood leaning against the doorframe of some hospital room, looking at whoever was lying in the hospital bed. Dean stood behind him in a white t-shirt and pajama bottoms. And directly behind them both stood Dean watching the whole scene unfold before his eyes.

Dean watched as the Dean in his vision tried to talk to Sam, but it was as if the mute button was clicked on so he couldn't hear a word the other Dean was saying to his brother. What was more, Sam didn't even seem to acknowledge the other Dean's presence in the slightest.

Another jolt tore through Dean's body and he found himself inside the hospital room. He glanced back and saw that Sam was still standing in the doorway with the Dean in hospital attire right behind him. Tears slid unchecked down his brother's cheeks as he watched the doctors working to save the person in the bed. About to turn back around to see who it was in the bed, Dean heard a familiar sounding voice, and stopped short.

"You really don't wanna know who's laying there dying, Dean, trust me." The Dean in the doorway stepped around Sam and entered the room. "Nothin' good will come of knowing. Better to leave things just as they are." He came to stand in front of Dean, and then glanced over Dean's shoulder at the person in the bed. "All you really need to know is that he didn't die. Really should've died . . . things would've been better if he did, but he lived. An' that's all you need to know."

"You . . . you can see me?" Dean waved his hand in front of the other Dean's face, and his mirrored image rolled his eyes as he chuckled.

"See, I'm kinda your out of body experience . . . so I guess that makes you the out of body, out of body experience, which is really makin' things kinda confusing. Way too many Dean's runnin' around this hospital." Dean's exact double grinned.

"Why don't you want me to see who's in that bed?" Dean asked, wondering if this was some sort of delusion Ellicott had planted in his mind. "Maybe I need to see who's there so it'll jar my memory."

"No, Dean." The other Dean shook his head then glanced back at Sam for a moment before refocusing his attention on Dean. "There are things we need to forget," he tapped at his temple as a pained expression crossed his features, "things that are better left buried or else they'll rip our heart to shreds. We lived through this once, you and me. It nearly killed us the first time around so I'm beggin' ya . . . please, don't make us go through it again."

A tremor of fear coursed the length of Dean's spine as yet another electrical charge surged through him. Maybe he's right . . . I'm right. Maybe I don't really want to remember what happened. Maybe Ellicott did me a favor by taking away my memories.

Dean glanced at Sam again, and his heart broke at how young and desperately sad his little brother appeared as he watched for any signs that the person in the hospital bed was going to be all right. I can't do this to him. I have to remember for Sam. He needs me to remember so I can help him.

"I have to remember. Sam needs me to remember."

"You're really not gettin' any of this," the doublewalker twisted his wrist around and as he did so he slowly closed his hand into a tight fist. With that gesture the room faded away to nothingness, and the two of them were standing in the middle of a dark deserted stretch of highway. "What's up here," he jabbed his index finger at his temple repeatedly, "it's gone. Sam took it. All your guilt, all your pain. It's gone. I'm what's left of you. I feel no guilt. No shame. I'm not hurtin' like hell inside anymore . . . an' I'm not about to let you ruin that for me. I think I've suffered long enough."

"Gonna help Sammy, an' there ain't a damn thing you can do about it."

"What are you gonna do, Dean? You can't stop me," he laughed, "can't make me go away . . . can't kill me. Cause after all, I am you." Dean's twin narrowed his eyes and arched a brow, in much the same fashion as Dean would, but somehow it looked decidedly evil in comparison to any facial gesture Dean would ever make. "I'm the part of you that's been pushed aside for way too long. An' I can guarantee you this," he jabbed his finger into Dean's chest, "I will kill you . . .no, better yet, I'll kill Sam before I let you screw this up for me. So just let it go before I make you do something you'll regret."

"Not gonna let you hurt Sam."

"Don't you mean you're not gonna hurt Sam?" Dean's doppelgänger grinned as they slowly circled, sizing each other up. "Startin' to sound a bit crazy there, Dean. Might just find yourself in the padded room beside your brother's if you aren't careful." The doublewalker tilted his head to the side to look beyond Dean and then with a smirk he peered into Dean's eyes. "Better get out of the way, there's an eighteen-wheeler comin'." he glanced at his watch, then tapped it with his finger. "Should be along any moment now. Seen this play out in my head a million times . . . huh, no, actually I should say I've seen it play out in your head."

"What the hell are you talkin about?" Dean swung around just in time to see headlights heading straight for him. He'd barely managed to get to the edge of the road before the eighteen-wheeler barreled past him.

"Listen, Dean," the doppelgänger held up a hand to silence Dean from asking how he knew a truck was coming. "Shhh . . . any second now," he craned his neck and Dean found himself doing the same.

In the distance, Dean heard tires screeching, metal colliding against metal, glass shattering then utter and complete silence. The acrid scent of smoke wafted through the cool night air, and Dean knew the accident must have happened close by, but as he strained his eyes to peer into the darkness he could see nothing.

"You can't see it cause you don't want to see it," the doublewalker quickly supplied as he came to stand beside Dean. He leaned in and whispered, "It's right there in front of you. . . not more than ten feet away. Let it go, Dean . . . can't you see that Sam did us a favor?"

"Did someone die in that accident?" Dean shivered, a tremor of fear coursing the length of his spine as he began to walk toward the crash site.

"Well, that's kind of a yes and no answer." The doppelgänger followed at a distance, only to stop short and bend down. He picked up a piece of twisted black metal off the ground, and held it up to Dean. "Things got complicated. An' then there was Tessa," he heaved the piece of metal into the grass, stood and wiped his hands on his pajama bottoms, "she had a real soft spot for you."

Dean pivoted all the way around, but didn't see any signs of an accident anywhere. "You're not freakin' making a lick of sense. You say there was an accident, made me think I heard one, but I see nothing. You're just tryin' to mess with my freakin' mind but I'm not gonna let you."

"I'm you remember? I'm not making any sense cause you don't want me to. Deep inside you want things to remain as they are. You want to be me an' you really don't care if it hurts Sam in the process." The doublewalker laughed as he stalked to where Dean was standing, grabbed hold of his arm and swung him around. He snapped his fingers and the eighteen-wheeler materialized out of thin air not more than five feet away from Dean. The front end of the vehicle was smashed in, smoke rising from the engine, but there was no sign anywhere of the other vehicle. "Tell me I'm wrong . . . tell me you want to see the car it crashed into, an' I swear to God, you'll see everything as it happened or you can just let it go." The doublewalker leaned back against what must have been the other vehicle and crossed his arms. "The choice is yours. But if it helps make things easier for ya, Sam is pretty much screwed no matter what you do. He's got a whole little party goin' on up inside his head, an' they ain't about to let him go," he chuckled, "guess you could really say he is the life of the party."

"Need to know." At a sudden crushing pain in his heart, Dean gripped hold of his chest and beneath his hand he felt his shirt dampening. Blood seeped through his fingers as he dropped to his knees, and the more he thought of the victims inside the car, the more blood dripped through his fingers to splatter on the pavement. But no matter how much pain he was in, he needed to know what had happened.

"What's the matter, Dean?" The doublewalker crouched beside him, and grabbed a hold of Dean's hair, yanking his head backward so they were looking squarely into each other's eyes.

"I can make the pain stop. Just say the word. Tell me you don't want to know what happened, an' it'll all be over."

"Said I need to see the car," Dean ground out, and hugged his chest even tighter as more pain ripped though his heart.

"Don't do this," the doppelgänger pleaded as the car began to materialize behind him, "I'm beggin' ya to stop this before it's too late."

Twisted black metal hugged the front bumper of the eighteen-wheeler, its headlights shining off into the field beyond. The driver's side door had been ripped clear off the hinges, and the person behind the wheel looked too tall and lanky to be Dean.

"Sammy . . . ." Dean's breath caught in his throat as he struggle to get to his feet. Tears stung at his eyes as he noticed three people in the car. "D-Dad. No . . . . No," he shook his head emphatically then turned away to face the doublewalker. "You're lying. You have to be lying. This didn't happen . . . it never happened."

That's right, Dean. It never happened," the doppelgänger smiled, "just look at you. You're fine. The Impala's never run any better. An' despite that whole crazy as cracker jacks thing your brother's got going on, Sam couldn't be any healthier."

"What about my Dad? How's my Dad?" Dean swung back to look at his father, and noticed he wasn't moving at all, and fear unlike anything he'd ever felt before gripped a hold of his heart.

"He didn't die in the accident, Dean. No one died here . . . not here."

"What do you mean?" Dean swung back to glare at the doublewalker. "Is he alive?"

The doublewalker shrugged, a smirk settling on his features. "You'll have to figure that one out for yourself, Dean. I've already showed you way more than I had intended, an' your freakin' guilt is startin' to make me feel a bit nauseous."

"Damn it, tell me if he's alive or not."

"No."

"Tell me or I swear to God, I'll . . . . "

"You'll what, Dean? Empty threats really don't scare me." The doublewalker glanced at his watch again and then looked up at Dean. "Think our time together is just about at an end for now."

"Like hell it is." Dean gripped hold of the doublewalker's t-shirt, cocked back his fist and threw a punch, but instead of hitting the doppelgänger, his arm stopped mid-strike. In a flash of brilliant light, the highway along with everything Dean had seen disappeared and he was laying on a bed in a completely white room.

"Mr. Whitaker, you need to calm down," came a voice from off to the right off Dean, and he instantly recognized it as Doctor Warner. "You are at Parkside Medical. Do you remember anything that happened?" the doctor asked in a soft and reassuring tone.

Confusion racked Dean's brain as he looked up from where he was laying and saw a stark white ceiling overhead. He tried to sit up but only made it less than halfway, padded cuffs around his wrists and ankles, effectively stopping any further movement. Dean turned his head to the side and took in his surroundings, taking note of the padded walls, and lack of anything that a person might hurt himself with, and then looked to the doctor. "Why the hell am I locked up in here?"

"You've been here since yesterday." The Doctor leafed through Dean's medical chart, and then smiled at Dean. "You've been admitted as a psychiatric patient."